Fool if you think it's over
by KET
Summary: HGSS. Rated R. Teenage angst meets midlife crises. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1: The party

**Fool if you think it's over**

**by Katta (KET on ff.net)**

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They all belong to J.K. Rowling, of course, of course. I'm sorry if I've borrowed them for a bit, but I am making no money from it._

_This is an HG/SS fic – please don't read it if you don't like that pairing. Note: rated R for various nasty things that happen to Hermione._

_This is really just a short story – 5 chapters. Teenage angst meets midlife crisis. I hope you enjoy it._****

**Chapter 1 : The Party**

How was it possible for your life to fall apart in less than two weeks? Hermione hugged her knees and pushed herself into furthest corner or her four-poster bed. Another sob wracked her body, but she had cried herself dry. It felt as if every liquid there had ever been, had flowed out as tears. Now she would start to shrivel up like a mummy and die here in the corner of the bed. No one would know for ages and ages. As Head Girl she had her own room. When would they come looking for her? Not when she missed breakfast – she often did that. Nor even when she didn't show up at the first lesson. No one would leave a lesson to go looking for her. Morning break perhaps. She pictured the incredulous faces of Harry and Ron when they found her, dried as a fig. No one would know what had happened. No one would understand. She pictured people talking about her, years from now. _Do you remember Hermione? So clever, but just dried up and died in her bed. It was a great mystery. I wonder what she would be doing by now._ All those plans she had – studying, research, doing something good in the wizarding world, they would all go up in smoke. She heaved another dry sob, aware that she was wallowing in self-pity. 

It had all started so well, the Christmas holidays. She had gone to her parents' house – the first Christmas holidays she had spent with them since – well, for years anyway. Dumbledore had insisted. She still wasn't sure why. Perhaps he sensed that the showdown with Voldemort was coming in this her seventh year. Either he wanted all students out of Hogwarts over Christmas to make preparations, or he wanted to make sure that they all saw their parents one last time. (That didn't really bear thinking about). For whatever reason, Hermione had been glad to go home. Grimmauld Place and the Burrow were all very nice, but home was home. And it was so much easier this year. Ever since her 18th birthday in the autumn, Hermione had been taking apparition lessons, and she passed her test just before Christmas. No day-long trip on the Hogwarts' Express for her. She just had to go down to Hogsmeade, concentrate long and hard, and hey presto! she was in her parents' garden.

Her parents' had gone to town over the Christmas celebrations once they knew she was coming home. There was an enormous tree, decorated with tartan ribbons, roast chestnuts by the fire, stockings on the mantelpiece. Christmas dinner had been splendid with turkey and all the trimmings, Christmas pudding lit with brandy, all eaten in mock solemnity wearing the paper hats from the crackers. She had been allowed to drink wine with the meal and port with the Stilton. And the presents had been wonderful. Clothes and books and lovely stuff. A Mont Blanc fountain pen. (Her parents didn't understand about quills, but she reckoned she could always use it once she had left Hogwarts). They had clearly made a great effort for remember that she was now an adult and would want adult presents. But the loveliest of them all was antique locket which had belonged to her great aunt. There had been nothing in it, but her mother had whispered to her that it was perfect to hide her most secret things and Hermione had decided to wear it always. Hermione hugged the locket to her now and sobbed again. What had her mother thought that her little girl might want to hide. A lock of hair of an admirer? Well, that would never happen now, thought Hermione savagely.

Boxing Day itself had dawned cool and crisp and even, without any hint of the disaster that was to come. They had gone for a walk and that was when they had met Moira and Katy. Hermione's parents had lived neighbours with Moira's parents for years, and Hermione had known her since she was a toddler. Moira was few years older than Hermione, and together with her inseparable friend, Katy, a lot wilder. Many a time young Hermione had got into scrapes trying to follow the older girls on some madcap adventure. Hermione sometimes thought of those days as a forerunner of her adventures with Harry and Ron.

When Hermione was still at primary school, and the other two girls were in their early teens, the scale of the adventures had usually run to climbing chain-link fences into scrap yards or stealing apples from gardens or, on one particularly horrendous occasion, shop lifting from Woolworths. Hermione had been aware that this was at the very edge of what she was prepared to be involved with, and if she had stayed in her parents' house, it would probably have come to some sort of a schism. After she had gone to Hogwarts (and she sometimes thought that her involvement with Moira and Katy had been one of the reasons her parents had been prepared to let her go), she had seen them only rarely when she was at home on holidays. But her mother had kept her up to date with their exploits in her letters. Things had clearly gone from bad to worse. There had been arrests and formal warnings for minor thefts and drunk and disorderly behaviour. There had been darker rumours of drugs and at least one abortion, although Hermione reckoned that you can't always trust rumours. Moira's parents had been at their wits' end. (Probably Katy's, too, but Hermione's parents didn't know them). But then, quite suddenly, the girls seemed to have pulled themselves together. They had managed to scrape their GCSE exams and gone to the technical college to do A-levels. Although hardly model pupils, they had stayed out of the way of the police and put in a sufficient amount of work. By some miracle, their earlier exploits had not resulted in a criminal record on a scale that would seriously hamper their career prospects. And Hermione had been pleased to hear a few years' previously that they had gone off to train as nurses.

Once legally adult and in possession of student loans, the two girls had got themselves a flat in a run-down area in the centre of town and were, in fact, rarely at Moira's house any more. But they had apparently come home to celebrate Christmas, which just went to show how far they had moved away from their wild teenage years. And on Boxing Day, they were taking a leisurely walk in the country park nearby. And that is when they ran into Hermione and her parents.

They stopped and talked for a bit, and then Katy invited Hermione to a New Years' Eve party they were having back at their flat. 

'Oh, do come, do,' she entreated the younger girl. 'It'll be fun. There'll be lots of men there. Junior hospital doctors, you know.' She winked.

Hermione's mum didn't look best pleased but she was torn, She was trying so hard to accept that her little girl was now an adult. And she did want Hermione to meet some 'normal' men, muggle men as Hermione would call them. It wasn't that Hermione's mum objected to wizards – in principle – it was just that, well, she wasn't quite prepared for her daughter to _marry_ one. So when Hermione asked if she could go, her mother presented no objection and even encouraged her a little.

Katy had written the address down on a piece of paper and added '8pm start'. Hermione felt quite grown up clutching the paper. Of course, she had been to parties before, Feasts in the Gryffindor Common Room for one thing. And at the Burrow. But she had never been to a genuine, young people, no parents/teachers party. And the thought of junior hospital doctors sent delicious shivers down her spine. She spent most of the next five days wondering what to wear. Her mother suggested the taffeta dress that she'd worn to cousin Alex's graduation. But even Hermione the bookworm realised that that would be seriously uncool. In the end, and with the winter weather in mind, she had settled for jeans and a white broderie Anglaise top. She thought it looked quite neat as she added rather more make-up than her mother really approved of. 

'Do you want some dinner before you go?' asked Hermione's mum, but Hermione told her to stop fussing and there was sure to be food at the party.

'I really don't mind coming to pick you up. It doesn't matter how late it is. I'll stay up,' said her father.

But Hermione turned the offer down as she thought it would seriously hamper her style to know that her parents were waiting up for her phone call. She promised that she would take a taxi home, but in her own mind she was already being given a lift by a handsome junior hospital doctor. She had enough sense not to mention this to her parents as she suspected it would lead to a lecture on drink-driving and the dangers of accepting lifts at parties.

Hermione was so full of anticipation that she thought she would burst when she boarded the 7:32pm bus for town clutching the bunch of flowers her mother had insisted would be _de rigueur_. Every so often she had to hug herself to stop herself grinning at the thought of all those young men who were going to be at the party. She kept checking her lipstick in the mirror on the deserted bus and humming a little tune to herself in her head. Her only worry was that it would take her a while to find the flat and that she might be late.

She realised her mistake as soon as the door to the flat swung open and a slightly surprised Moira in a dressing gown stared at her, automatically accepting the bunch of flowers thrust at her. 

'I … er … am I early? Katy said 8pm,' said the flustered Hermione.

Moira grinned and open the door wider.

'Come in! She always says 8pm. It's a bit of a joke. People will turn up when they come off their shifts. Katy isn't home yet and I'm just getting myself ready. But you can make yourself at home. Are you any good at mixing punch?'

While Moira disappeared back off to the bathroom, Hermione looked around the flat. She wasn't quite sure what she had expected, perhaps something like Moira's parents' perfect house in miniature. The flat wasn't anything like that. It was incredibly dilapidated, with faded wallpaper peeling off in the corners. In one room someone had made an inexpert job at putting up new wallpaper, and that looked even worse. The furniture looked as if it had been scrounged from a tip. In the living room was a sofa with hardly any springs. One leg was missing and it was propped on a pile of nursing textbooks. The other chairs were covered in multi-coloured throws, no doubt hiding a multitude of sins. It didn't look as if anyone ever cleaned this room, but then it was lit mainly by candles, so it was hard to tell.

Hermione peeped into Katy's bedroom and found that she slept on a mattress on the floor with all her clothes apparently stored in piles around it. The walls were covered in posters which were testimony to an eclectic taste. A rock band on one wall faced Che Guevara on the other.

There was no apparent source of heating in the flat apart from single bar electric heaters which were not switched on, and the place was pervaded by a damp, musty, slightly mouldy smell. In search of warmth, Hermione continued into the kitchen, where the oven was on making the temperature bearable. On inspection, the oven was found to contain dozens of large potatoes, in the early stages of being cooked on a low heat. There was no other sign of food. On the kitchen table was an array of alcohol such as Hermione had never seen. There were dozens of plastic gallon flagons of beer, a whole army of bottles of cheap wine, and a huge vat of punch in the making.

Hermione fell in love with the flat instantly. This was all so grown-up, liberated, un-parentish. She wanted a flat just like this when she went to university! (Up to that point she had been rather envisaging herself as living in one of the ancient colleges under a dreaming spire). And she wanted posters on the wall. And no heating. And lots of alcohol. 

Katy appeared in the doorway saying, 'Hello, Herm. What would you like to drink? Don't bother with that cheap stuff on the table, I've got something better in my room.'

She reappeared shortly with a bottle of Russian vodka and two smeared glasses. The normal, sensible Hermione, balked slightly at the sight of the glass, but the new free-thinking Hermione convinced herself that it would be sterilised by the alcohol and Katy, being a nurse, would know about these things.

Hermione had never really drunk spirits before and on an empty stomach it went straight to her head. Soon she was in the highest of spirits, adding crème de menthe to the punch and choosing music for the party. She talked and giggled and awaited the guests with great anticipation. 

The guests started to arrive at about 10.30pm, by which time Moira and Katy were exhausted by Hermione's chatter. Hermione was briefly put out to discover that the other guests brought bottles not flowers, but that little_ faux pas_ was soon forgotten as she fluttered her eye lashes and attempted to flirt with the many junior hospital doctors who had arrived as promised. Before long she was sitting on the sofa with a particularly nice member of the species man called Daniel. She thought that she was being incredibly witty and he certainly seemed to have a smile on his face. After a while he rose and said he was going to get some more drinks. Hermione leant back and discovered that her head was spinning rather alarmingly. Perhaps she had had too much vodka. Or perhaps it was mixing the punch and the vodka. Whatever. It didn't seem to matter. 

But as time dragged on Hermione began to wonder where Daniel had gone. She wanted the drink and she was beginning to feel a bit lonely, not to mention cold. She stood up unsteadily and was making her way towards the kitchen when she spotted Daniel talking to Moira.

'Where did you find the child? Does her mother know she is out?' he was saying as Moira laughed.

In an instant, Hermione's evening fell to pieces. She had thought she was adult and funny and sexy, but Daniel had been laughing _at_ her, not with her. Hermione's face burnt and she ran upstairs. She slipped into Katy's bedroom, but realised almost immediately that the bed was heaving. There was a couple there … actually … doing it! Hermione knew then that she was way out of her depth.

She made for the loo, where she locked herself in (with some difficulty as she couldn't quite focus on the bolt). She realised now that her outfit, which she had thought quite nice, had only served to make her look young. With excruciating embarrassment she sat on the loo and wondered how early she could slip out of a News Years' Eve party without losing face with her friends and her parents. It had to be at least an hour until midnight! Perhaps she could just sit right here on the loo. But no – someone was already knocking on the door asking why she wasn't finished yet. And, besides, it smelt too bad. So, taking a deep breath, she opened the door to face the party again.

As she walked down the hall, a voice shouted 'Hermione!'. 

She looked up to see Nick Moran, of all people. Nick had been three years above her at Hogwarts and she wasn't even aware that he knew who she was. What was he doing here at this muggle party? Well, she was here, wasn't she, so there wasn't any reason why other wizards and witches might also happen to get invited. Nick made straight for her and kissed her on the cheek. He then caught her when she swayed alarmingly with the drink. Heads were turning. Nick was a good looking guy and people looked jealous. Hermione's standing rose several degrees. She was so relieved she hugged him, and when he kissed her it seemed wonderful. 

Nick's kiss deepened and became more demanding. Alarm bells began to ring in Hermione's head and she tried to push him away. He laughed and backed off a little, kissing her neck instead. Someone brought round glasses of punch and they drank some more. Then Hermione found that she had to lean on Nick to stand up. He put a solicitous arm around her and pulled her onto the sofa. When he kissed her again it seemed only fair. Nice even. And this time she didn't protest as he leant over her and kissed harder.

After that, things began to blur at the edges. She could only remember snatches without the intervening bits to explain how they hung together. They had definitely kissed on the sofa for a while. When someone turned on the BBC for the midnight bongs, they were lying behind the sofa and Nick was on top of her. It felt nice. His hands did things she hadn't really expected hands to do. Part of her brain was saying that she should get him to stop, but her mouth wasn't obeying. Later on she remembered him helping her to the loo and sitting helpless on the loo for ages before she remembered why she had come. When she came out, he was still there and he started to walk her somewhere else. She could remember the feel of an itchy wool blanket against her naked buttocks, but not how she had come to be naked. 

And then all memory stopped.


	2. Chapter 2: The aftermath

**Fool if you think it's over**

**by**** Katta (KET on ff.net)**

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They all belong to J.K. Rowling, of course, of course. I'm sorry if I've borrowed them for a bit, but I am making no money from it._

**Chapter 2 : The aftermath**

When Hermione woke up on New Year's Day, she was only aware that she was cold. And thirsty. And queasy. And her head hurt. Slowly she moved and discovered with surprise how stiff she was. She was wrapped in a blanket, under a table, in a bedroom. There was no one else there. Slowly, slowly she raised her sore head. She had to have something to drink or she was going to die. With infinite care, she stood up and made her way to the kitchen. Moira and Katy were sitting in the middle of a sea of empty bottles and spilt drink, drinking tea. When they became aware of Hermione, Moira grinned and said, 'So who scored with the best looking bloke at the party, then?'

The words filtered slowly into Hermione's befuddled brain. And suddenly she had to be sick. With a superhuman effort, she ran and reached the loo, before the contents of her stomach rearranged itself on the floor. In cold and total misery she sat on the floor, half in, half out of the pool of sick and considered Moira's words. Carefully she stood up and pulled down her trousers. The inside of her leg was caked with blood. And her knickers were missing.

Somehow the missing knickers seemed the final straw. She started to cry at her own stupidity. She had gone to a party that was out of her league and got so drunk she couldn't remember anything. And she had lost her virginity to the first man to flatter her. And she was sitting in a pool of sick in a smelly loo. And she had lost her knickers! A cold misery took hold of her heart. Was this how easily the Hogwarts Head Girl was cut down to size? She felt dirty and guilty and stupid. And she cried for a long time.

Finally, Katy came and knocked on the door to ask if she was alright. In the interest of self-preservation, she pulled herself together and washed her face. She came out looking slightly green and blamed the hangover for her strange behaviour. Moira and Katy clearly saw nothing wrong in screwing with half-known man at a party, but they didn't know just how inexperienced Hermione was. She kept a brave face on it for the brief time it took her to get out of the flat. 

On the long walk home, in the freezing early morning weather, Hermione ran over events again and again, trying to probe her mind for more memories. But most the time after Nick arrived was and remained a blur. She had absolutely no memory of the sex at all. Damn! Damn! Damn! She had been so proud of her virginity, smugly telling Lavender and Parvati that she was keeping it for someone special. And then, one skinful of alcohol, and she had gone to bed with anyone. Now she thought about it, she didn't even particularly like Nick. She felt so dirty. All the perfumes of Arabia … and all that stuff. She knew she would have a bath when she got home, but she also knew it would be no good. The dirt went deeper. To her core. She would never be rid of it. And then she had to be sick again in a ditch. Served her right! Slut! Idiot! Know-it-all who knows nothing! No one had ever been harder on Hermione than she was on herself.

Her parents were only slightly concerned about her when she got back. They realised that she must have got drunk and was now hung over. If anything, the fact that she clearly wasn't very used to drink seemed to reassure them. They decided to leave her to herself, for which she was profoundly grateful. Over the next few days, she seemed a bit quiet and withdrawn, but her parents simply put it down to worrying about returning for the critical spring term of her final year at school, and didn't think too much of it.

While she was still at home, Hermione had been forced to put a brave face on things, but now that she was back at Hogwarts, she was falling apart. She had spent most of the first week locked in her room, except when she had to attend actual lessons. Ron, Harry and Ginny kept knocking on her door, but she just couldn't face them. She told them she was too busy preparing for her NEWTs, and got meals sent up by the house elves.

In reality she wasn't studying at all. She was just sitting on her bed, crying and berating herself. Waves of self-disgust swept over her. Stupid! Dirty! Defiled! It was as if the nightmares kept encroaching on her mind and pulling it apart. 

Then suddenly, in the small hours of the night, a thought came to her. She didn't know where it came from, but it just popped into her head unbidden. _If I sleep with the ugliest, nastiest man I know, I'll be clean again._ It made no sense, really, but her sanity was wearing rather thin. To Hermione it seemed the answer. To be clean again, that was what she wanted above all else. She began repeating it like a mantra, blocking out the bad thoughts whenever they started their dance through her brain. She even wrote it on a piece of parchment and put it in the locket she had got for Christmas. 

By using the mantra, she was able to start functioning in something approaching normal fashion again. She could concentrate on her lessons. She could take her meals in the Great Hall. She even got some homework done. Bad thought – mantra. Bad thought – mantra. It was working, even if living her life seemed to be like going through the motions and pretending to do the things she should be doing.

At night, she would repeat the mantra hundreds of times until she feel asleep. At least she was getting some sleep. But in the darkness of her bedroom she also started planning how to carry it out. That wasn't so easy. The nastiest boy in her year was without a doubt Malfoy, but he could hardly be described as ugly. Quite the opposite, in fact. There were plenty of boys who were not so good looking, top of the list being Longbottom, but he was the sweetest, kindest person you could imagine. At the moment, Hermione was satisfied with the mantra, the promise of becoming clean again, but she knew that sooner or later she would have to act on it, and she wasn't sure how.

~@~@~@~

Three weeks into January, things seemed to have calmed down a little bit. Hermione was almost behaving as normal. Ron and Harry had stopped worrying about her and were concentrating on their quidditch again. And then overhearing a chance conversation between Lavender and Parvati, set off Hermione's neurosis again.

'I thought she looked fat when I went for that visit in November,' said Lavender.

'I remember you mentioning it,' said Parvati. 

'At Christmas, she was behaving really oddly. I asked mum what was up, but she was concentrating on some sort séance she was putting together and I don't think she'd even noticed.'

'You'd have thought she'd pay a bit more attention to her first-born.'

'Well, she didn't. And clearly Hester's announcement came as a complete surprise. Mum's letter is full righteous indignation at not having been told earlier.'

'So, is it too late for Hester to have an abortion?'

'I expect so. But it doesn't make any difference because apparently she wants this baby.' Lavender pulled a disgusted face. 

'What about the father?'

'Well, this is the thing. She hasn't told mum and dad who it is, but I know ….'

Lavender and Parvati moved out of earshot, but Hermione was standing stock still in shock. Pregnancy! The possibility had never even occurred to her. She could be pregnant at this very moment! 

Hermione ran to her room and locked the door. Breathing carefully to prevent herself hyperventilating, she stripped in front of the mirror and examined her body. Was the stomach a bit fuller? At what point did a pregnancy being to show? Hermione's sex education had been woefully neglected. She had had lessons at her muggle primary school, but that was years ago. Hogwarts was much too traditional to deal with matters like that. And her parents too embarrassed. Besides, it wasn't as if she had spent much time at home in the last six years. She knew the basics, of course, and – now that she thought about it – she was fully aware that having unprotected sex could make her pregnant (she just hadn't thought about it). 

Hermione's normal reaction to anything she didn't know was to go to the library and look it up. But she just couldn't! What if anyone saw her? Mme Pince could tell what books they had read, anyway. No the library was out. So, what to do? Still breathing carefully, she reviewed what she did know about pregnancy. Periods! That was it! If she was pregnant her periods would stop. She reached for her diary. There was one due soon. Perhaps if she could just survive the next few days, her period would come and then everything would be fine!

~@~@~@~

Hermione's period came three days later. When she woke up to see the blood, she was aware of a relief so massive it threatened to overwhelm her. She fairly bounded into the Great Hall, greeting everyone with a cheerfulness that wasn't entirely appreciated on a Monday morning. She wrote two essays that afternoon and caught up with all her arithmancy assignments for the next month. She wanted to grab Harry and Ron and swing them round and dance and sing.

This happy frame of mind lasted two days. Then lying in bed at night, she suddenly remembered her mother telling a story to one of her friends some years ago. She hadn't been aware of Hermione listening, and Hermione hadn't paid much attention to it at the time, but suddenly it was there in her brain and refusing to go away.

'She went to the doctor,' said her mother in the memory, 'complaining of a stomach ache. And they ran all sorts of tests, but couldn't find anything wrong. And then one day, she went to the loo at the railway station, because she kept needing to go to the loo all the time, and out pops a baby. She had to get the loo attendant to phone for help. She was nine months pregnant and didn't realise it! But the baby was unharmed and now she seems ever so happy.'

Slowly Hermione turned the story over in her mind. So it was possible to be pregnant and not realise it. Could that mean that it was possible to carry on having your periods? Because otherwise this woman would have known, surely? How did you test for pregnancy? Presumably Mme Pomfrey could read some incantation, but that meant telling her. Hermione's good spirits plummeted. She cried herself to sleep again, her hand self-consciously on her belly. Repeating the mantra helped a bit, even though it wasn't anything to do with the fear of pregnancy. She was beginning to think that if she would sleep with the nastiest, ugliest man, she wouldn't just be clean, but the whole nightmare would be over.

While she slept, her mind had obviously done a bit of filing and sorting, because she woke up with the one piece of information she had on muggle pregnancy tests. She remembered the scene from _Bridget Jones's Diary_ where Bridget thinks she might be pregnant. She'd gone to a chemist and bought a test. There was then some confusion over how to read the test, but that was it! There were muggle tests that could be bought over the counter!

With feverish concentration, Hermione bent her mind to how she might acquire one of these tests. Hogsmeade was out. Even if the apothecary carried muggle pregnancy tests, which was doubtful, she couldn't go in there and ask. Anyone might overhear her! No that was impossible. What she had to do was to somehow get out into the muggle world. She thought that one over for a few minutes.

~@~@~@~

By the time she saw Professor Dumbledore that afternoon, Hermione had her spiel ready. She was feeling under pressure from her NEWTs and her duties as Head Girl. She needed to get away for a little. She was missing the muggle world, too. No – she didn't want to go and see her parents – they were abroad anyway. (Going into a muggle chemist in her small home town was almost as bad as going into the apothecary in Hogsmeade). What she really wanted was to go to London for a weekend. Do some clothes shopping. Go to a museum. Just get away.

Dumbledore regarded Hermione with concern. All her teachers were reporting that she was behaving strangely this term. Not exactly neglecting her work, she was still doing twice as much as was necessary, but not doing four times as much, as she would have done in the past. And the spark seemed to have gone from her eyes. Perhaps it was the impending threat of the final battle with Voldemort that was weighing on her? Perhaps getting away to London for a few days would do her good?

'All right, my dear, you can go to London for the weekend, but only if you stay at Grimmauld Place. Remus is living there now and he'll look after you. And I don't want you gallivanting round London in the evening on your own, so I'll tell Fred and George you're coming. They are bound to lay on some entertainment for you.'

At any other time, the prospect of a weekend like that would have made Hermione delighted. As it was, she barely remembered to say thank you. Dumbledore reached across for a calendar.

'You can't go this weekend as it won't be … errr .. convenient for Remus, but you can go the weekend after.'

Hermione almost ran back to her room to start making preparations.

~@~@~@~

'How did you get Professor Dumbledore to agree to let you go to London?' said Ron, clearly both impressed and jealous.

'I told him I'd been working too hard – hardly an argument you can use!'

'Why can't we go with you?' asked Harry.

'Because I want a bit of time away on my own. Perhaps if you ask Professor Dumbledore he'll let you go on a different weekend.' In truth, Hermione doubted that – Voldemort's malice was now closely focussed on Harry. As Head Girl, Hermione knew how much effort was expended on keeping Harry safe, without him knowing about it.

'You'll miss the quidditch match against Hufflepuff!'

'Oh, shucks! Well, that's another reason why _you_ can't go.'

The boys had to admit Hermione had a point there.

~@~@~@~

It had been agreed that Hermione could travel down on the Friday night. Ron and Harry walked her down to Hogsmeade where she could disapparate. They both gave her a hug, sensing that something was very wrong, but she was so keen to be away that she hardly noticed.

Remus met her in the hall of Grimmauld Place. He looked surprisingly well, given the strain of the war against Voldemort. Since he had no current employment, he seemed to be devoting his efforts full-time to the Order of the Phoenix and he was at least able to live for free in Sirius' old house. He was even being paid some sort of housekeeper's allowance out of Sirius' estate, so he was no longer destitute. Over the past two years the house had been totally done up and bore no resemblance to the gloomy place Hermione had first visited in her holidays between the fourth and fifth year. Dumbledore had installed Dobby as the resident house elf and everything was spick and span. 

Together Remus and Dobby had cooked up a veritable feast for Hermione, and the three of them stayed up late into the night eating and drinking and reminiscing. Now that she was actually doing something concrete about her problems, Hermione felt much more cheerful. Remus, who had been warned to look out for odd behaviour, thought that she seemed a bit brittle but otherwise all right.

The Saturday morning dawned bright and cold. Fred and George had arranged to meet her at lunchtime in the Leaky Cauldron, so she had the morning for her main errand. She had chosen a copious handbag to hide her purchase. With this clutched firmly in her hand, she made for Oxford Street as being the busiest and most anonymous part of London. Within a few minutes of coming out of the tube station, she spotted a huge branch of Boots' which seemed perfect. Looking carefully around herself to make sure there was no one she knew about, she entered the shop. 

Where would the pregnancy tests be? Asking was out of the question. She would rather have died! But she wandered up and down the aisles until she spotted a sign saying 'Family planning'. And there they were. At least three different makes. Single packets . Double packets. (Why would you need a double packet, wondered Hermione.) She read the back. They all guaranteed high accuracy and results in under a minute. Hastily she grabbed one and covered it in her basked with an assortment of shampoos she didn't really need. Now for a deep breath and the check out. She knew that she was blushing bright read, but the assistant was either well used to young men sidling up to buy 'something for the weekend' or too bored even to notice.

Once out of the chemist, Hermione went into one of the large department stores that she knew would have loos. There she repacked her bags, hiding the pregnancy test at the bottom of her handbag. And now she was ready to face Fred and George.

~@~@~@~

The twins were such a breath of fresh air, Hermione found herself laughing properly for the first time that year. Their shop was wonderful and she spent the afternoon just browsing in their store room. Once they had closed up for the evening, they took her out for dinner and then to a comedy show. She was delivered back at Grimmauld Place very late in the evening. 

There seemed to be no sign of Remus, so Hermione went up to her room. Now – finally – for the test. She unpacked the box and read the instructions carefully. It hadn't really occurred to her to wonder how the test would be performed, but now she was suddenly worried that she would need a pin to prick out some blood. But, no, it was just a urine test. It all seemed straightforward enough, but she would obviously have to transfer to the bathroom. She hid the box up the sleeve of her robe and went out in the corridor. Remus must have come home, because she could hear voices from downstairs, but they didn't seem to be interested in her, so she slipped across to the bathroom and locked the door.

Mindful of Bridget Jones' unnecessary panic, Hermione forced herself to reread the instructions very slowly and carried them out to the letter. As the urine rose up the absorbent stick, the first window stayed wonderfully clear and white, while the blue line appeared in the second window. Hermione compared the result with the picture on the box. And then she waited an extra minute and looked again. Absolutely no doubt – she was not pregnant.

With a wonderful feeling of relief, Hermione slipped back out into the corridor. The voices downstairs were now raised in a heated argument. Hermione couldn't resist leaning over the banister. Remus and his guest were in the front parlour and the door was open a crack.

'If you hadn't taunted him, he would still be alive today!' shouted Remus.

Hermione couldn't hear the quieter reply, but Remus' words made clear that he must be talking to Snape.

'You're just a frustrated and bitter man!' said Remus. 

Hermione bent over further to hear the reply.

'Frustrated? Look whose talking! When was the last time you had a woman?' said the smooth sarcastic voice that Hermione knew so well from Potions lessons.

'I'll have you know,' said Remus sounding rather smug, 'that I have a very happy relationship with a significant other.' 

That was news to Hermione, but she didn't have time to stop to consider it before Snape replied with his trade-mark snideness.

'Well, it's easier if you have two _species_ to choose from.'

The remark clearly riled Remus for he shouted, 'You are just the nastiest, ugliest excuse for a human being I have ever come across!'

'I don't have to stand here being insulted!' shouted Snape, and Hermione realised that they could spill over into the hallway at any moment. She scuttled off to her room, every last trace of her pregnancy test hidden up her sleeve.

But Remus' final words rang in her brain. Nastiest. Ugliest. Snape was the nastiest, ugliest man she had ever met. She couldn't believe that it hadn't occurred to her before, but that was the answer to her problem staring her in the face. She had to sleep with Snape to become clean again!

But how? You don't just waltz up to a teacher and ask them to go to bed with you. Well, perhaps you could have done with Gilderoy Lockhart, but not with Snape. 

Hermione's mind began to scheme. And then it occurred to her that Valentine's Day was coming up soon and Professor Dumbledore had announced a masked ball. A smile spread across her face. Valentine's Day. She had just the idea for a Valentine's card. And a disguise.

_A/N: For the record, the story about the woman who was pregnant and didn't realise is based loosely on a story I once heard, but I think that she had always had irregular periods and therefore wasn't alarmed when her periods stopped._


	3. Chapter 3: Midlife crisis

**Fool if you think it's over**

**by**** Katta (KET on ff.net)**

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They all belong to J.K. Rowling, of course, of course. I'm sorry if I've borrowed them for a bit, but I am making no money from it._

**Chapter 3: Mid-life crisis**

Snape had to admit that Lupin's words hit a raw nerve. The very fact that the word 'frustrated' had made him jump to the conclusion that the werewolf was talking about sexual frustration, was significant. 

Snape had long ago given up hope that any woman would find him desirable, or even bearable. It really hadn't mattered too much to him. He had convinced himself that he couldn't be bothered with relationships. And if he wanted sex, well, he could always go down to the brothels in Knockturn Alley. That had been enough for him – until recently. 

Perhaps it was the fact that he had turned forty. Somehow he had developed a much more active sex drive in the last year or so. He was finding it difficult to keep his mind away from it. Whenever he saw a woman, he would imagine her body underneath the clothes. What was worse – he had started having similar thoughts about some of the older students. Quite apart from the ethical considerations, that was a problem as he saw a lot more of them than other women.

And it felt as if his life was running away from him – as if he was running out of time. Of course, it didn't help that the showdown with the Dark Lord was obviously imminent. Snape wasn't at all sure that he would survive that battle. If the Death Eaters didn't get him, the aurors probably would. He had taken to spending whole night wallowing in self-pity and a near-hypnotic state of frustrated sexual arousal.

And to cap it all, he was just plain scared and lonely.

So – the werewolf had a woman. Even Snape didn't really think she was a she-wolf. The truth was that Snape was jealous. And it was not made any easier by the impending arrival of Valentine's Day.

Why, oh why, couldn't he just for once in his life have a woman to ease the pain.

~@~@~@~

Valentine's Day fell on a Friday that year and Professor Dumbledore had announced that there would be a masked ball that evening. But first they had to get through the day. The antics weren't quite on the scale of Lockhart's extravaganza five years earlier, but it was pretty bad. Dumbledore had arranged for a huge postbox to be placed in the entrance hall and had decreed that all card must be posted by 8am. The whole school sat down to breakfast in anticipation of what would happen.

At 8am precisely, Dumbledore stood up, stretched out his wand towards the postbox and shouted, 'Aviare'.

A thousand cards suddenly gained wings, like the memos at the Ministry of Magic (wherefrom Dumbledore had, in fact, got the charm). The cards fanned out across the room and started landing in droves in front of the more popular members of the student body and staff. 

The new DADA professor was a Swedish wizard called Sven Jansson who had cut his anti-dark arts teeth at the United Nations (Magical Division). He was clearly an expert on peace keeping, but Snape had his doubts about whether he could counter a dark curse in a fight. However …that was an old wound and not to be reopened. 

What was certainly true was that Jansson was tall, blonde and very handsome. The female students clearly thought so, too, because – to the consternation of the rest of the top table – Jansson was currently drowning under a huge pile of cards. He didn't have the ego of Lockhart and had the good grace to look seriously embarrassed, but Snape thought he detected a hint of satisfaction nevertheless.

When Snape had finished observing this spectacle, he turned back to his plate to discover that there was a small white envelope on it. His immediate thought was that one of the cards had slid off Jansson's pile and he picked it up to hand it over. But then he saw that it said 'Professor Snape' in block capitals on it. No one was watching him as he slid it up his sleeve.

Ever alert for some sort of practical joke, Snape glanced down at the Slytherin table, but no one seemed to be taking any notice of him. Indeed, if the giggling was anything to go by, the Slytherin girls were as numerous as the other houses among Jansson's fans.

Snape stood up and strode away from the table. He made towards his rooms as quickly as he could and found to his surprise that his heart was racing with anticipation. He tried berating himself, arguing that it was bound to be a joke – probably a howler – but he couldn't quite banish the sense of excitement. 

Finally he reached his rooms. He threw himself down in an easy chair and carefully extracted the card. 'Professor Snape'. There was no mistake. Someone had sent him a Valentine's Card. The first one in years. No – Snape decided to be brutally honest for once – the first one ever. He couldn't remember ever receiving one before. He tried for a bit to convince himself that Valentine's Day cards hadn't been such a big thing in Britain in the seventies, when he was a teenager, but he knew it wasn't true. Thinking back, he could remember Potter and Black receiving piles of them. Snape had been as dark and greasy when he was young as he was at forty. He just hadn't had any female admirers at any age (or male ones for that matter).

Sighing slightly, Snape slipped his finger inside the envelope and ripped it open. Inside was a single card, like a postcard. On the front were some rather nice water colours of herbs and plants. It took his brain a few seconds to decode the meaning – together they would brew a love potion. He turned the card over gingerly. On the back it said:

I WOULD LOVE TO BREW THIS POTION FOR YOU.

SEE YOU AT THE BALL TONIGHT.

XXX

Never before had Snape been so thrown by anything. His hands trembled and to his shame he discovered that the thoughts engendered by the card were turning him on. His face turned burning red at the thought and he rushed to the bathroom to splash them with cold water. His whole body spasmed with frustration, as he pushed down the thought that the card must have come from someone within the school. As it was unlikely that a member of staff had suddenly developed a passion for him, it must have come from a student. But even that fact was not going to put him off.

~@~@~@~

The day's lessons were hell for Snape. He couldn't concentrate on anything and was reduced to shouting and deducting points for no reason at all. (The students didn't think that he ever needed a reason to deduct points, but at least he normally had a reason in his own mind.) 

Then there was the question of what to wear for the ball. The staff were not expected to turn up masked, thank Merlin, and in the end he decided to wear the same black robes that he always wore. But he couldn't remember having such butterflies in his stomach since he was about 17.

When the evening finally came, Snape was sorely tempted to be at the ball bang on 7pm. But a sense of self-preservation took over, accompanied by a desire not to make a fool of himself if the whole thing turned out to be a joke. So with an immense exercise in self-control, he sidled in late once the party was in full swing.  Standing in a corner he observed the Great Hall. Dancing was going on all over the place and the older students and staff certainly looked rather merrier than was warranted if they had just been drinking pumpkin juice. Jansson was dancing with three final year students from different houses and seemed to have overcome his earlier shyness. Snape snarled in his corner.

~@~@~@~

Hermione had been watching for Snape and saw him enter in the far corner. To the untrained eye, he might have just looked aloof, but with a bit more information, she could decode his body language. He was as full of anticipation and worry as a teenager hanging out in the kitchen at a party. Like her, at that fateful New Year's Eve party, in fact.

It had never occurred to her that she would see her intimidating potions master look so insecure and nervous. Almost shy and scared. Her heart went out to him. It was at that moment she fell in love with him. To her great surprise she felt herself being turned on by the thought of holding him, kissing him, soothing away his awkwardness. It was time to act.

~@~@~@~

Snape had almost decided that nothing was going to happen and that he should leave while he still had his dignity intact, when a scantily clad Cleopatra, complete with asp, slid up to him. He didn't recognise her in the mask, but with that snake he reckoned that she had to be a Slytherin.

'Do you dance, Professor?' she asked politely.

At that point, the band turned from modern music to a waltz. Snape decided to take it as a sign. He swallowed deeply and led her onto the dance floor. When he placed his hands on her, he felt her hot skin under the thin gauze of the costume and it almost drove him mad with desire. He rubbed his hands slightly up and down, and took in the generous curves. With relief, he remembered that although the disguise had hidden her face and voice, it was unlikely that she would have been able to change her body.

Cleopatra smiled. 'Did you get my card?' she purred.

Snape stiffened momentarily and then nodded.

'Would you like me to brew you the potion?' she whispered.

He seemed to have lost his voice and nodded again.

'When the dance ends, give me ten minutes, then meet me by the sundial in the walled herb garden. You know where I mean?'

Still mute, Snape nodded again. And then the dance ended and she was gone.

It took Snape five minutes to recover his vocal cords and his composure. He gulped down some butter beer and glance around himself furtively. Had it been ten minutes? He hadn't thought to check the clock. Well, it was now or never, he couldn't wait any longer.

The herb garden seemed completely deserted and he was almost on the point of giving up. Then a shadow slid out behind him and put her hands over his eyes. He spun round to face the girl. She was very, very close and smiling at him. Gently, he bent down and kissed her. Her body seemed to melt into the kiss as she gave in to his insistent tongue. Pulling her closer, he could almost encircle her waist with his fingers and thumbs. He pushed her gently but firmly against the brick wall of the garden and kissed her again. When he stopped, he found that she was looking at him through half-closed eyes, with her lips slightly parted.

Then he was overcome by a desire so strong he couldn't hold it back. 

'Come,' he said and grabbed her hand. Dragging her behind him, he walked quickly towards his chambers. She offered no resistance and let him lead her where he wanted. 

Once inside his rooms, he resumed kissing her. But standing in the middle of the floor soon became uncomfortable and he pulled her down on the settee. This gave him a much better opportunity to fondle first her breast and then more widely over her body. Her costume was so scanty and sheer that he hardly had to exert any effort to start divesting her of it. In return, her hand slid up and started to undo the buttons of his shirt. He could feel a smell of desire roll off her and encouraged by this, he slid his hand between her legs. She was quite, quite wet and writhed with pleasure at his touch. They had hardly said ten words to each other at this point.

Then suddenly, in the distance, the clock began to strike twelve. This was the sign for the magical disguises to vanish and the students to return to their normal form. To his surprise, Snape found that he didn't care who she was just so long as she let him continue.

In the dim firelight, he saw her face begin to change and her hair bush out. With pleasure he noted that the curves of her body stayed unchanged as he had expected. 

On the final strike of twelve, he recognised her, his fingers still delving inside her.

'Miss Granger?' he squeaked in surprise. She just smiled and drew him once again into a kiss.

In fact, Snape was so far gone, it is doubtful if he could have stopped if the girl had turned out to be Madame Pince. Moreover, he was sufficiently deeply steeped in popular muggle culture (with special reference to pornography) for an image to form in his mind: a mousy girl looking up from her library books, taking off her glasses and shaking out her hair, turning into a sex kitten.

'Hermione?' he said, experimentally rolling the name over his tongue. He was surprised that he was neither horrified nor repelled. The fact that she had now started massaging his erection through his trousers helped, too.

'I want you,' she whispered, and he was lost. Within seconds, the remainder of their clothes had been discarded. Moments later he was urgently pushing her legs apart to let him position himself. He sank into her tight spaces and found a release he didn't think he was still capable of.

~@~@~@~

Snape woke in the pale light of dawn. They were tangled up on the settee which seemed somehow wider than normal. One of them must have had the presence of mind to charm it last night. He watched Hermione's face sleeping, loving the defenceless, innocence of it. But he had to wake her, because he had to have her again. He trailed kisses along her cheek bone and watched her open her eyes. For a moment she looked confused and then her face split into a smile as she realised what his fingers were once again doing.

~@~@~@~

'Can I do it again? You're not too sore?'

'I thought older men weren't meant to be able to do it this many times in a row.'

'Older _wizards_ just get better and better.'

'You don't say?'

'Do you like it when I do _this_?'

'Mmhmm…'

'What about this?'

'Oh, yeeees …'

~@~@~@~

They were lying tired and sated in each others' arms. At some point, they had transferred from the settee to his bed. Hermione was playing with a lock of his hair and they were just talking now, too sore and tired to continue making love. Snape would make a joke or observation and Hermione would laugh. He felt clever and witty, like he'd never done before in his life.

Then the clock struck eleven. Hermione stiffened and counted the strokes.

'Harry and Ron are expecting to meet me in about ten minutes to go down to Hogsmead,' she said in a panic. 

Snape wanted to pull her to him and tell her to forget all about Hogsmead, but he knew that if she didn't show up her friends would start looking for her, probably even alert Dumbledore. No, it wasn't a good idea at all. Reluctantly he stood up and started to look for her clothes which had now transfigured back into a normal skirt and T-shirt, while Hermione had a super-quick shower (carefully avoiding getting her hair wet). They couldn't find her knickers anywhere, but it would just have to do.

Then Snape almost pushed her to the door, before he could change her mind.

Staring intently into her eyes, he said, 'Come back on Friday evening. Late. About midnight. Make up some excuse so that no one expects to see you for breakfast on Saturday.'

She nodded and made to leave. At the last moment, he pulled her back and silently waved his wand over her.

'What was that for?'

'To stop you getting pregnant.'

Hermione's heart melted at that. The cruellest, most inconsiderate teacher there was and yet he could show such concern for _her_. She left feeling like a princess walking on air.

After she had left Snape stood stock still in the middle of the room for over a minute. Then he punched the air and shouted, 'Yissss!'

~@~@~@~

Hermione felt brilliant as she walked round Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron. A silly smile kept sneaking onto her face. Every time she took a step, the absence of knickers reminded her of the night's entertainment.

'Hermione seems to be in a good mood today,' said Ron as the two boys waited for her outside the bookshop. They were both aware that she had been very subdued since the Christmas break.

'Perhaps she got laid last night,' said Harry with a grin.

The two boys looked at each other and then said in unison, 'Naaah!'

~@~@~@~

Snape felt so good about himself, he couldn't remember ever feeling that good about himself. Last night he had been witty and clever and sexy and seductive. Hermione had laughed at his jokes and responded to his touches. He preened himself in front of the mirror – not something he often did. He drew a finger along his jaw line. Perhaps he didn't look so ugly after all. There was definitely something to be said for an affair with a teenage girl. 

Briefly, his conscience protested, but he put it down firmly. They were not doing anything illegal. Unethical perhaps. Immoral even. Certainly contrary to his contract of employment. But not illegal – she was well over the age of consent and over 18 even. Anyway, he had always been attracted by forbidden fruit. That had been part of the attraction that the dark arts had held for him in his youth. No doubt, none of the other members of staff would consider him capable of seducing a young girl. The thought of sitting there at the high table with this secret inside him, was turning him on and he smirked.

~@~@~@~

Monday morning was double Potions, and Hermione wondered what it would be like. Obviously, she realised that Snape wouldn't be able to treat her any differently to normally – it would raise too many suspicions. Even so, she was slightly disappointed when he seemed to ignore her completely in the lesson. Admittedly, it was a complicated potion they were brewing, and Snape needed total concentration, but she felt almost jealous in her corner watching him sweep the room and checking on everyone else. It wasn't until right at the end of the lesson that he finally lent over her cauldron to confirm what everyone already knew – her potion was perfect. Then finally he bent low over the fumes and whispered softly, 'Friday'.

Hermione's heart leapt in her chest and she left the class room walking on air.

~@~@~@~

Snape's euphoria lasted until late Monday night. The thought of the hidden act of whispering in her ear in a Potion's lesson had been sending shivers of delight down his spine all day. But in the wee small hours, the doubts set in.

'Why did she seduce you?' asked a voice in his head.

'I seduced her,' he replied stubbornly.

'Oh, did you? Who sent the card? Who asked you to dance? Who invited you into the walled garden?' queried the voice.

'Well, she must fancy me,' replied his mind.

'Oh yes, you have such a history of young girls fancying you, don't you?'

'Doesn't mean she doesn't. She's different.'

'How about she was trying to prove something, Or it was bet. Perhaps she is laughing about it at this very moment with her friends.'

Snape felt himself go cold and white. He hugged the knickers that he had finally found under the bed.

'We'll see on Friday!'

'What makes you think she'll come on Friday?'

And suddenly Friday took on an enormous significance. If she came on Friday, then this would all be genuine. If she didn't come, well …

~@~@~@~

Hermione spent the week carefully building up the lie she was preparing to tell. At every opportunity she sighed about how much homework she had, especially in subjects like arithmancy and ancient runes that the boys didn't take. Come Friday dinnertime, Harry and Ron were fed up hearing about it.

'Why don't you just lock yourself in your room on Saturday morning and finish all these essays,' said Ron. 'You can get the house elves to send you up some food.'

'Do you know, I might just do that,' said Hermione, smiling inwardly that her ruse had worked.

'But you will come to the quidditch match on Saturday afternoon, won't you?' said Harry anxiously.

'Of course,' said Hermione and fondly mussed his hair. She knew she couldn't stay with Snape all day – it would be too suspicious.

~@~@~@~

Snape looked down at the Gryffindor table and saw with despair how Hermione ruffled Harry's hair. _She won't come tonight. She won't come. She doesn't love me. She loves Potter, of course – everyone does._

He rose and left the table quickly.

~@~@~@~

The lights were down low and the fire was burning. By midnight, Snape had worked himself through every emotion he possessed. First despair after the display at dinner. Then hope as he thought back to her smile in the Monday Potion class. Accompanied by lust and desire. Finally a resignation that what would be, would be. He was sitting in his winged leather arm chair, glass of whisky in hand, staring into the fire. 

He jumped at the knock on the door. When it was her standing outside the door, his heart soared. She had come. She really had come. He let her in and stood close to her, wanting to touch her but not knowing if he could stop himself from pawing her once he started. She seemed a little shy, too.

~@~@~@~

Snape had never spent a whole morning in bed with a woman. He had not been prepared for the hormonal turmoil of repeated love-making, interspersed with naps and meals taken in bed. He felt light-headed and confused, as if he had lost his footing and was floating free in the air. Hermione was sleeping now and he was replaying snatches of conversation in his head.

'Do you think I'll pass my NEWTs?'

He hadn't answered that, just kissed her nose.

'No – but I mean – pass them with high enough grades to get a scholarship at Oxford.'

'Yes, I would have thought you could manage that!' Some sarcasm in his voice there. She was generally acknowledged to be the cleverest witch of her generation, but no need to tell her that. 'Is that what you want to do? Go to Oxford?' 

'Oh yes,' Hermione had said with great excitement in her voice. Snape had felt a tug of jealousy then. She would disappear from his sphere of influence into the clutches of all those clever men, the cream of wizardom. He wanted to wrap her in cotton wool and keep her here for him, all for him. But, of course, his rational mind knew he couldn't do that. So he had engaged her in a discussion about what she thought university would be like. One section of their conversation drifted back to him in particular.

'I'm not going to live in college, ' she had said with emphasis.

'Why ever not?' he had asked in surprise. He would have thought that living in college would have appealed to her.

'I want to get a flat with some friends,' she had said. And then she began to describe how she imagined her student flat. Mattresses on the floor, incense burners in the corners, candles in old chianti bottles, late night parties, Chinese and Indian takeaways, studying in front of single bar electric heaters, piles of washing up in the kitchen. And suddenly he realised how very old he felt. As a matter of fact, he had lived like that when he was a student, although the late night parties had been more likely to be late night Death Eater meetings. But that was twenty years ago. Now he valued his comforts too much.

With jealousy in his heart, he watched her sleep. Who had instilled this vision of student life in her brain? Perhaps she already had a young man (young men?) that she was planning to share it with. Perhaps she had written his (their?) name on a piece of paper in that locket that was nestling so alluringly between her breasts?

Snape lifted the locket very carefully so as not to wake Hermione. He snapped the clasp open and, as he had suspected, there was a piece of paper in it. His long fingers easily extracted the paper, but before he could unfold it, Hermione began to stir. He quickly concealed the paper in his sleeve and snapped the locket shut. A moment later, Hermione's eyes flew open and she smiled at him.

~@~@~@~

They both needed to be at the quidditch match, and Hermione needed to go back and change first. This was the last few moments of their day together and neither of them wanted it to end. But it had to. They had shared a long lingering kiss by the door. Now Snape peeped out carefully into the corridor and gave Hermione the all clear. She squeezed past him and whispered, 'I love you'. Then she was gone.

Snape stepped back and shut his door with regret. Then he remembered the piece of paper from Hermione's locket still hidden up his sleeve.


	4. Chapter 4: The showdown

**Fool if you think it's over**

**by**** Katta (KET on ff.net)**

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They all belong to J.K. Rowling, of course, of course. I'm sorry if I've borrowed them for a bit, but I am making no money from it._

**Chapter 4: Show-down**

Hermione was surprised but not overly worried when Snape didn't show up at the quidditch match. When he wasn't at dinner she began to fear that he had been called by Voldemort again. He had tried to seem unconcerned when they talked about it, but she had sensed that he dreaded the Death Eater calls, and the look of hatred whenever he set eyes on the Dark Mark spoke volumes. 

But if he had gone to a Death Eater meeting, there was nothing she could do. Dumbledore would know about it and he would no doubt take whatever action was needed. 

When Snape didn't turn up for Potions on Monday, Hermione began to feel frantic. And now a new thought occurred to her. Perhaps this had nothing to do with Death Eaters. The last thing she had said to him was that she loved him. Perhaps she had read this all wrong. Perhaps he had just been enjoying a bit of sex with her. Perhaps the thought of her being in love with him had frightened him off. He didn't look like the kind of man who took kindly to being tied down in a relationship. Perhaps he thought Hermione was trying to trap him. Perhaps … Her brain was filled with worry.

No one else minded Snape being absent, of course. Most people regarded it as cause for celebration, in fact. Ron had entertained the teacherless class with an hour of Snape impression, which had had everyone except Hermione in stitches. To hide her true feelings, she had buried her nose in a book and told everyone else they should do the same. 

That evening, they were all sitting in the Gryffindor common room doing their various homework, when the fire crackled. Fred and George's disembodied heads appeared in the flames. 

'Greetings, Gryffindors!' said Fred.

Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione crowded round to hear what the twins had to say.

'Is anyone else listening?' asked George. 'We've got some really juicy gossip, but it is for your ears only.'

Ron looked round to make sure no one else was in earshot.

'There is a major panic going on at Grimmauld Place. Snape has vanished and everyone is looking for him! Shacklebolt is convinced that he has gone over to You-Know-Who for good.'

Hermione gasped and Fred grinned.

'Well you may gasp, but that is what it looks like. We always had our suspicions, didn't we?'

'Good riddance, I'd say,' said Ron.

'It would explain why he didn't want to give me proper occlumency lessons,' said Harry but he sounded a bit more doubtful.

'Of course. It explains a lot,' said George.

'Why he didn't stop us going to the Ministry of Magic at the end of our fifth year!' said Ron excitedly.

'Dumbledore explained …' said Harry doubtfully.

'Dumbledore explained – nothing! Snape was just a bad egg all along and now he's gone to where he should have been in the first place!' announced Ron.

Hermione had turned pale. She slipped off to her room to be alone, but that night was the worst she had ever spent.

~@~@~@~

'Lemon sherbets! Fizzy wizzbangs! Aniseed balls!'

Hermione was trying every sweet she could think of to open the door to Dumbledore's office early on Tuesday morning. 

'Miss Granger,' said a quiet voice behind her so unexpectedly that she jumped. 'Were you trying to contact me?'

'Oh, Professor Dumbledore, I must speak to you!'

Dumbledore regarded the distraught head girl and then pushed the door open. 

'It wasn't locked,' he said smiling, as he led the way up the revolving stairs.

As soon as they entered the office, Hermione burst out, 'There has been a terrible mistake!'

'Sit down, my dear. I find that people are always better able to explain terrible mistakes if they first sit down and drink a cup of tea, especially first thing in the morning.' He waved his hand to conjure a tray of tea things and poured her a cup. 

Hermione was actually grateful for the chance to collect her thoughts and even took a sip of tea before she tried to speak again.

'Now you may tell me what is on your mind,' said Dumbledore mildly.

'I heard from London that the Order of the Phoenix think that Professor Snape has defected to Voldemort!' Even now, she flinched at the name.

'There are those who think so,' said Dumbledore cautiously.

'But it isn't true!' she blurted out.

'And why do you think not?'

'I don't think so, I know it. I _know_ why he has disappeared! It's all my fault!' At this point Hermione burst out crying. Dumbledore extracted a large red and yellow handkerchief from his pocket and reached across to give it to her.

'I think you'd better tell me what you know, my dear.'

And so it all came out, the Valentine's card, the dance, the assignation, the affair, and finally her declaration of love, which must have precipitated Snape's flight. Hermione had lost all regard for how these revelations might affect her or Snape.

Dumbledore looked her sadly.  'These are serious matters you tell me of,' he said. 'It certainly puts Severus' disappearance in a different light.'

'Oh,' said Hermione relieved. 'You do believe me.'

'Oh, I believe you, my dear. But I find it hard to stomach that Severus has betrayed my trust. I cannot condone an affair between a member of staff and a student, you know. If Professor Snape returns here I will terminate his contract of employment immediately.'

Hermione's hands flew to her face.

'You can't sack him!' she cried. 'Expel me if you want, but don't sack him. It was all my fault. I set out to seduce him.'

'That's as may be. In normal times I probably would have expelled you, but we are facing the showdown with Voldemort very soon, and the school needs stability. Expelling the Head Girl is not the thing to do. However, Professor Snape is a grown man and he would know what consequences his actions would have. He should have exercised more self-control. I'm sorry, my dear, but I simply don't believe you could have seduced him without some complicity from him.'

'But I did. I was determined to sleep with him. I even wrote it down here.' 

Hermione pulled out the locket and snapped it open. For a moment she stared at the empty space. Then a memory came to her of waking up with Snape's hand resting on the locket between her breasts. She went pale. 

'I've got to find him,' she said and rushed out of the room. 

Dumbledore sighed deeply, then he reached out to send a note winging its way after his star pupil.

~@~@~@~

Snape was sitting in a cold, dark room. Once an hour or so a house elf would come in and try to light some candles and the fire, but he would wave them away. The cold and the dark went with his mood. 

The explosion of light came as complete surprise and blinded him temporarily. When he regained his sight and saw Hermione standing in front of him, all he could think of saying was, 'How did you get here?'

But she wasn't listening to him. She had dropped down on the floor in front of him and was crying, 'I can explain. Please let me explain!'

For all the bitterness, he was surprised that she had come after him and curious as to her explanation. He stood and drew himself up to his full height.

'Well, explain then if you can!'

Hermione buried her face in her hands and started to tell the whole story. How excited she had been about going to the New Year's Eve party. How mortified she had been when everyone laughed at her behind her back, because she was too young. The entrance of the wizard she knew. Waking up the next morning.

While she told her story, Snape had first sat down and then pulled her up onto the sofa next to him. Now he dried her tears and said softly, 'You were date raped.'

'Date raped?'

'I may not be fully conversant with muggle psycho-babble, but that is what it is called, isn't it?' he snapped sarcastically.

Hermione knew perfectly well what date rape was. She had read plenty about it in the muggle papers when she was at her parents. It was just that she had never considered that that was what had happened to her. The fact that there was a name for it made her feel better. It suggested that this had happened to others and she was not the only one ever to suffer this indignity. Moreover, the label 'rape' suggested that a crime had been committed and she was the victim. She had never thought of it in that light before.

Seeming to read her mind, Snape said, 'This wasn't your fault, Hermione.'

'But .. ' she said. 'It wasn't rape …'

'Now,' said Snape. 'Did you give your consent to have sex with this man?'

'I don't know. I may have done. I can't remember. I was too drunk.'

'I put it to you that the very fact that you were so drunk that you can't remember what happened means that you were in no fit state to give your consent to anything.'

She thought about that for a while and, realising it made sense, her face cleared a little. A great weight seemed to lift off her mind.

Now that he knew what had happened, Snape found he couldn't hate her any more. He stood and said in a stiff voice, 'Well, if that has made you feel better, I'm glad. I think perhaps I should be going now.'

'No, don't go! You still don't understand!' said Hermione urgently.

'What don't I understand? You wanted to sleep with the nastiest, ugliest man you know to punish yourself. You did so. I'm glad it worked.' His voice turned acid.

'No, no! That is how it started, but once I began looking at you, really looking, I saw something else. You touched something in me. I had forgotten all about that stupid piece of paper until I tried to show it to Dumbledore to prove …'

'You meant to show the paper to Dumbledore. You've told him about … us?' Snape sounded incredulous.

Hermione paled as she remembered what Dumbledore had said. 

'I had to tell him. You don't understand. When you disappeared, everyone thought you'd changed sides. I had to prove that there was another reason for you leaving.'

Snape laughed bitterly. 'You give twenty years of your life to the Cause and at the first hint of trouble, everyone assumes that you have defected. What did Dumbledore say to your revelation?'

'Well, he …'

'I assume he sacked me on the spot.'

'Yes, I'm afraid so.'

'Too right. He couldn't very well do anything else. I would have done the same,' said Snape.

'You seem to be taking this very calmly.'

'To be honest,' said Snape slowly. 'It had occurred several times to me over the last week that I might have to choose between my job and you.'

Hermione stared at him. 'And you were prepared to choose me?'

'Well you know how much I love teaching,' he replied dryly. 'But more importantly, how was Albus going to punish you? He wasn't going to expel you, was he?'

'He said it would be too unsettling for the school at this time. To be honest, I don't think he was as upset as he was making out to be. He sent me this.' 

Snape took the piece of ancient scroll Hermione handed him. _How to follow the trace of a loved one who has disapparated after an argument._

'Ahhh.'

They stared briefly at each other and were leaning forward to kiss, when the fire crackled. Dumbledore's head appeared, looking anxious and unkempt.

'Severus!' he called. 'Severus, are you there?'

Snape moved over to be in sight of the fire.

'I'm here.'

'Severus, it's started! Hogwarts is under attack. We'll have to talk later about why you disappeared, but now I need you here by my side!' And with that his head disappeared.

Snape stood up abruptly and headed for the door.

~@~@~@~

Hermione had followed him closely and they landed together in a heap outside a side gate in the wall surrounding Hogwarts. Snape searched around behind a bush and brought out an old school broom. 

'You stay here,' he said throwing his leg over the broom handle, but Hermione shook her head.

'If you think I'm going to sit here while you and my friends are risking your lives, you've got another thing coming!'

Snape sighed. He didn't have time to argue. He slid backwards leaving space for Hermione to sit in front of him. She stepped onto the broom in silence and despite the seriousness of the situation, she felt a jolt of desire run through her body as Snape's strong arms closed around her to grip the broom in front of her.

They flew low over the treetops to come upon an extraordinary scene. The Death Eaters were arraigned around the lawn in front of the main door, with Voldemort at their head. On the front steps stood Harry flanked by Dumbledore and Jansson. Various other teachers and members of the Order of the Phoenix were hanging out of the windows along the front elevation of the castle. Particularly noticeable was Lupin who was perched on a ledge outside a high turret window.

The teachers were all working furiously to counter the curses sent by the Death Eaters, Jansson in particular finally displaying his DADA credentials. But the centre of attention was the duel going on between Harry and Voldemort. They were surrounded by a debris of feathers and fur suggesting that a transformation duel had been taking place. Clearly, they had now worked themselves into some kind of stalemate in their own forms. However, Harry was injured and suddenly he lurched to one side. Voldemort raised his wand and prepared to the cast the definitive killing curse.

The Death Eaters had everyone on the Hogwarts side pinned down. No one was able to raise a wand to help Harry and it looked as if it was all over. But the Death Eaters had made one fatal mistake. They were solely focused ahead of themselves. No one looked round to see if anything was approaching from behind.

'Hold the broom steady,' Snape whispered in Hermione's ear. She thought that this was probably not the moment to tell him that she was really no good at flying a broom, and concentrated instead on gripping the handle, her knuckles white. Snape raised his wand.

'Petrificus totalis!'

'Avada kedavra!'

Snape's curse was uttered a millisecond before Voldemort's with the result that he was already falling when the killing curse left his wand, It missed Harry by a whisker and bounced harmlessly off the ancient stone wall. With a roar, Dumbledore rushed forward and cast a binding curse.

The Death Eaters stood frozen with horror and surprise for a vital moment. With a scything movement of his wand, Jansson cast a mass sleeping curse over them and every last one fell to the ground.

It was all over.

With the merest hint of a victory lap, Snape brought the broom round the lawn and to halt in front of Dumbledore. Hermione hopped off and ran to Harry who had collapsed from exhaustion.

Only some little while later did she think to turn round to look for Snape, but by then he was gone.

_A/N: This is only a short story. One more chapter to come._


	5. Chapter 5: Auld Lang Syne

**Fool if you think it's over**

**by**** Katta (KET on ff.net)**

_Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters. They all belong to J.K. Rowling, of course, of course. I'm sorry if I've borrowed them for a bit, but I am making no money from it._

**Chapter 5: Auld Lang Syne**

Hermione graduated top of her year at Hogwarts. Indeed, she got the highest NEWT grades seen for 30 years (although some older wizards complained that this only showed that NEWTs had got easier). As a result, she got a scholarship to Oxford.

As soon as she arrived, she rented a student flat away from the college, which she shared with a group of likeminded friends. It had no heating and for two years she slept on a mattress on the floor. The dilapidated walls were covered with colourful scarves and hand painted murals. The damp smell was disguised by the liberal use of incense (and other substances). 

During this period, Hermione built SPEW into a nationwide campaigning organisation through many a late night meeting in student union bars around the country. This set in train a series of events which led some years later to the passing of the House Elves Employment Rights Act, but by then Hermione had stepped down from any active role.

In her third year, Hermione moved into rooms in the college, ostensibly to concentrate on her finals, but actually more because she had got fed up with wearing three jumpers and still having a cold all winter. To no one's surprise, except perhaps her own, she graduated with a double first in Potions and Chemistry.

She was immediately awarded a grant to start a PhD, which she completed in under three years. The thesis was so well received that she was invited by a major academic publisher to revise it for publication. From there, her first lectureship was a foregone conclusion. This allowed her to continue various avenues of original research suggested by her PhD and, before long, she was a highly regarded expert in the cross-over field between Potions and Chemistry.

At about this time, Hermione's parents retired, sold their house in England and bought a farmhouse in rural France. With the money left over, they helped Hermione buy her first flat. Now she could divide her time between term time teaching in Oxford and holidays doing research in the Dordogne.

She also had a very active social life. Harry and Ron had gravitated to London, and she was very welcome to stay with either of them whenever she wanted bright city lights. And Oxford provided a vibrant and intellectually challenging circle of friends.

Nor did she lack a sex life. She had several low key affairs on the go, mainly with foreign Potions academics, whom she met at conferences. The only problem seemed to occur when several of them came to the same conference.

But she felt no desire to settle down with any of them. Sometimes she wondered whether it was the date rape that still affected her. But she now had that episode in proportion and could think about it with equanimity. No, in her heart of hearts, she knew that the reason was that she was still in love with a dark and difficult man who had vanished without trace after helping to vanquish Voldemort.

Throughout her twenties, this posed no particular problem for Hermione, but once she'd turned thirty, things changed. Most of her friends, including Harry and Ron, had settled down with a partner and spent their weekends decorating and going to IKEA. Worse – more and more of them were beginning to have children. Not only did this remove them from Hermione's social circle, it was making her increasingly broody.

At 33, Hermione was beginning to worry about her life. Career-wise it was going extremely well, but was that really all there was to life? She had often heard the term 'biological clock' and given it little credence, but now it was beginning to make sense. However, you can't conjure a partner out of thin air, even if you are an exceptionally clever witch. The truth was that Hermione was lonely.

And, so it was one morning, that Hermione looked up with surprise as an official Hogwarts' owl landed in her breakfast. She detached the note and read,

_My Dear Hermione,_

_I very much hope that you will join us for the 15th anniversary of the Great Victory on 18th February. I fear this may be my last anniversary and there is something I would like to discuss with you._

_Yours,_

_Albus_

Hermione felt a tug at her heart. She hadn't seen Albus Dumbledore for over a year and he had looked very frail and elderly then. Hot tears began to prick her eyes.

Inquiries quickly established that Harry, Ron and other mutual friends had also been invited to the anniversary but without the rider about something to discuss. Very intrigued she got ready to go to Scotland.

~@~@~@~

'And so,' said Dumbledore with a voice that was still loud, even though it was shaky with age, 'I thank you all for coming and give you a toast. To Freedom!'

He raised his glass. When they had all drunk, the dinner broke up and people left their seats to seek out old friends they now rarely saw. Hermione made for a group of her contemporaries, but was sidetracked by Dumbledore who grabbed her elbow.

'Hermione, my dear, you look splendid!'

'Albus – not so bad yourself!' she lied.

'Please walk with me for a little.'

She took his arm and they walked out of the hall. When they reached the entrance door, he threw a warning spell around them and they continued into the snow-lit night. Dumbledore was clearly finding the walking a strain and was too out of breath to talk. Out of politeness, Hermione stayed quiet too.

Eventually they reached a bench in the herb garden and sat down. After a little while, Dumbledore regained his breathe.

'And how are you, my star pupil?'

Hermione smiled.

'I'm very well. My research is going well and I'm planning to publish a new paper on healing potions soon. As you know, I decided to write an undergraduate textbook for a change and it has already made the reading list at several US universities. As a result I'm getting rather more famous than I had bargained for and I'm having to turn down lecture invitations right, left and centre.'

'Good, good, but I meant more in your private life.'

'Well, I have recently bought a house in Jericho, which I'm doing up, so I'm spending a lot of time going round architectural salvage sales and …'

'That is not quite what I meant, either. How is your personal life? Some significant other on the horizon?'

If it had been anyone other than Dumbledore, Hermione would have told them to mind their own business, but instead she smiled sadly and said, 'No, no significant other.'

'Why?'

That question merited some consideration and Hermione thought it over.

'I guess I haven't met the right person.'

'Ever?'

'I'm sorry, I don't understand …'

'Have you never met the right person?

'Well perhaps … once … why am I telling you this? You know.'

'Say it, Hermione. Please humour and old man and say it.'

'All right.' Hermione was becoming slightly irritated by the prying nature of his questions. 'Once when I was very young, half a life-time ago, I fell in love, but it wasn't meant to be. And he has disappeared. And – damn it – I can't find anyone else who measures up. There I've said it! Are you happy?'

They both heard the gasp behind them and Hermione turned sharply. And suddenly – as suddenly as if he had shrugged off an invisibility cloak (which was indeed what he had done) – there was Snape. Large as life and very much alive.

While they stared at each other, Dumbledore seemed to melt away.

'You're alive?' Stupid question. Of course he is – he is standing in front of you.

'So it would seem.'

'Where have you been all this time?'

'Hiding.'

'Who from?'

'You – among others.'

'Me? Why?'

'I finally decided you were too young. You told me what you were looking forward to about student life. You even waxed lyrical about having a flat with no heating. I could remember being that young, but I couldn't live that life again. I finally understood that I would be too jealous. I would cage you, hamper you, restrain you. That you would end up hating me. There was no future for us. I wanted you all to myself. I would never have been able to share you – not even with undergraduate life. So I left before you had the chance to wake up one morning and decided that you no longer wanted me. Besides, there were questions that the aurors wanted to ask me that I really didn't want to answer.'

'Where have you been all this time?'

'I've been living like a muggle.'

'A muggle?'

'Yes, I'm a school care-taker. The Argus Filch of Middleton Comprehensive.' He gave an ironic smile.

'But you are able to use magic?'

'Not really – I knew that if I used it too often, either the aurors or Albus would trace me. In fact, that was my downfall in the end. Pigeons. I can cope with most things, but I can't abide pigeons. They foul up everywhere and I have to clear it up. Without magic. Until last week that is. I just lost my rag and cast a spell on the school to keep the blighters away. I should have known, though. Albus picked it up straight away.'

Here he fell silent and they looked at each other for a long while.

Finally Snape broke the silence.

'Did you mean what you said to Albus earlier on? That you fell in love with me? That no one else since has measured up.'

By way of answer, Hermione stroked his cheek gently.

'Come home with me. Home to Oxford.'

'Hermione, I gave you up once for your own good. I am not sure I could do it again.'

'Who's asking you to give me up?'

They stared at each other again. Then Hermione grabbed hold of his lapels and dragged him with her through the apparition to Oxford. 

Snape looked around her front room – the stripped and varnished floor boards, the white walls, the lovingly restored architectural details.

'Hermione,' he said hesitatingly. 'You don't want me to mess up your perfect life.'

Hermione smiled. 

'You don't understand. I'm bored. I _want_ my life messed up. Especially by you!'

And then they kissed.

THE END

_A/N: That's it for this time. I'm sorry about the 15 year jump between the chapters, but try as I might, I just couldn't imagine this relationship working when Hermione was 18._


End file.
